


Bad Moods (Moves, whatever)

by Sweet_Espresso



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy - All Media Types
Genre: Appearances don't mean squat, Bad Days, Gen, Stress Relief, mean bosses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 04:08:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4732286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweet_Espresso/pseuds/Sweet_Espresso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Surrounded by a bunch of ravagers (some new, some old, some blue), what's a weary first mate to do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Moods (Moves, whatever)

_I looooooove me some Kraglin. Especially Kraglin with a chip on his shoulder. Hee hee._

\------

Lonkir was in a bad mood.

He had joined the Eclector, a well-known ravaging ship, in order to become one of the fiercest thieves in the galaxy. He wanted to be rich, feared and involved in some of the biggest heists ever known.

So far, all he had done was fight for his meals, fight for some sleep and scrub. Now he needed to find the supplies to clean the bathroom. The young xandarian snarled to himself as he looked in the wrong storage container. Again.

There had been no help from his fellow crewmen. Each ravager that had strode past was nastier, bigger, and stronger than the next. He kicked the unit closed and snarled again, this time in pain. Stupid bathrooms. Stupid ravagers. Stupid ship. He could do so much more if only they…

Lonkir perked up. This time the ravager shuffling by was tall, but scrawny, dirty and not imposing. At all. The young xandarian sneered and pushed himself in the crewmen’s path, forcing him to a halt. “Oy.” Lonkir boldly looked him up and down, stretching his impressive arms and lifting his nose in pride. This ravager was the bottom of the totem pole and Lonkir was ready to step over him.

“How's about you get me the cleaning supplies in Unit 515b, before I have t’ use you instead…” He leaned in close and hissed in the ravagers face. “…you tancarian worm.” Lonkir bared his teeth and moved closer.

And then the ship _moved._ He thought.

Lonkir gagged for air, his chin digging into the floor’s grating, a huge weight just building between his shoulders, pressing, pressing… In fear, the rookie grabbed for the foot off to his side, trying desperately to grab, to stabilize himself, anything, and a wicked blade struck next to his nose. It twisted in the grate, a wretched scraping sound, and lifted to tap his forehead. Once. Twice. Lonkir’s eyes followed it up, up and he stared into a pair of stone grey eyes. The scrawny, dirty and not imposing ravager hadn’t changed, but his gaze… Lonkir attempted to swallow, but his spit had dried in his throat and he choked instead.

“You’re lucky I’m in a bad mood. If I was happy, I’d gut you.” The pressure increased and the ravager smiled, revealing jagged and pointy teeth. He hoisted Lonkir up, pinning him to the wall. “Now I found me a stress ball,” the not-so wimpy looking man got in the rookie’s face, his long fingers pinning Lonkir’s face up, up, straining his neck. The smile grew and the teeth multiplied. “And I’m gonna _squeeze_ till I feel better.”

\--------------------

Kraglin was in a bad mood.

The crew was stewing over their losses in a battle with another ravager group. Neither had won, and he knew that it wouldn’t, couldn’t, be left at that. As a result, there was a larger group than normal of newbies and he was needing to be nasty a lot more than usual.

Normally he didn’t give a wit, but nowadays his (lack of) build and (unfortunate) appearance was wearing on him. Or rather, the rookies reaction to him.

The captain found it hilarious.

Kraglin grit his teeth. His load of duties, always complicated, were grating on him in a vicious way. He was occupied as he shuffled down b-block, taking his time and fighting to bring his blood pressure down (damn his pale skin and red blood). The stars to his side were helping, and he could almost take a full breath in, when a young, muscular, unknown rookie got in his face. Threatened him. Hissed at him. Because of how he looked.

Kraglin tensed. Breathed. And _moved_.

\---------------------

Yondu was in a bad mood.

He had lost men, supplies, ships in the last battle. Repairs were going on nonstop, the new crew were slowing things down, and several contracts were needing to be renegotiated due to circumstances. Dammit.

And Kraglin had his feathers in a bunch. _That_ brought a smile to his face.

His first mate, usually efficient and unmoved, was losing his temper. He was overworked (to be sure). The amount of things needing to be done was unreasonable ( _no ifs ands or buts_ ). Someone might be killed if things continued this way ( _it was a matter of time_ ). Yondu was silently betting three more days before Kraglin lost it. Speak of the devil…

The lanky figure moseyed in, looking more relaxed than he had in days. The only change Yondu could see was blood spatter on his hands and swollen knuckles. The centaurian huffed and turned back to his charts.

_Well,_ apparently he lost that bet.

“Did y’clean after yourself?” Yondu could feel the smirk from behind him as Kraglin began checking the resource logs. “Naw. I got one of the rookies to do it.” His voice dropped to a malicious growl. He needed t’ clean the bathrooms anyways.”


End file.
